The first cry pierced the stillness before dawn.
It was soft, almost uncertain like the world itself had paused to listen.
Then it grew stronger, louder, undeniable.
Liora was born beneath the ancient crescent moon, the same symbol etched in the ruins of the old High Council chambers. Her tiny fists balled, her eyes shut tight as she wailed into the chilled mountain air, as though howling for those who had fallen and those yet to rise.
Kael had never cried before not like this. Not even when the council fell, not when the Alpha elders were slaughtered. But as he held his daughter, swaddled in a white blanket Sienna had stitched herself, a sound broke from his throat that was both laughter and a sob.
"She's… perfect," he whispered.
Sienna's body was weak, trembling from the hours of labor, but her eyes didn't leave her daughter for a second. "She's strong," she said hoarsely. "Like her father."
